Without Options (14 page)

Now, Jake stepped across the street and then glanced for a second up at the hotel, where Alexandra would be moving the bags to the car. He checked his watch. It was nine thirty. Moments later and Jake walked through the front door of his bank. He’d last been there a couple months ago when he shifted funds from an electronic transfer from a Swiss bank, via Bulgaria, and converted some to cash. After Anna died, and he recovered from the gunshots, he hadn’t thought about the money that much.

An older distinguished gentleman in a fine Italian suit recognized Jake and greeted him with a hand shake. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Adams,” he said discreetly. “How may I help you?”

“I’d like to close my account Tyson.”

The banker went pale.

“I’m just kidding,” Jake said. “You used to have a sense of humor.”

The man sighed heavily. “Apposing forces. My sense of humor has fallen as your account has risen.”

“No worries. I just need access to my safe deposit box.”

The man led Jake into the vault and left him in a private area to open his box. It was the only area in the bank without cameras, but Jake still kept an eye out, just in case they decided to change that policy. They hadn’t.

He had the largest box available and it was quite heavy. Inside he removed a hard plastic handgun case and pulled out another Beretta PX4 Storm. He was sure he hadn’t shot anyone with it. He then found a roll of bubble wrap, unrolled it, and took out another barrel. Glancing toward the door, Jake quickly pulled his Beretta in the holster, broke it down, and within seconds swapped out the barrels. Now he had two clean .40 cal automatics. He also grabbed a couple of extra full magazines, shoving them into his coat pockets. He ran his hand across a container with personal items, but left them there. Instead he found two stacks of 50, 100 Euro bills. Ten grand should do him, he thought, without having to use ATMs. He shoved them into inside jacket pockets, closed the box, and put it back into its slot before calling the banker back to lock his side.

Jake smiled and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Tyson.”

“When are you coming to live in Luxembourg for good?”

“I don’t know if I do anything for good?” Jake quipped.

“Good point. Have a great day.”

Jake smiled and left.

He turned right and went down the block to the corner, waiting there for the light to change. Checking his watch, he figured Alexandra would be picking up the car by now and would eventually come around the block to the front entrance. The light changed and Jake started across the wide boulevard. Halfway across, a silver Mercedes turned right so Jake stopped to let it pass.

The car slowed. Something wasn’t right.

Jake saw the windows come down and the two guns almost immediately. His reactions were swift but he had no place to hide. As he shifted to his right he drew the Beretta from his pocket and rolled to the ground just as he heard the sound of gunfire.

Bullets whizzed over his head as he returned fire.

He struck the driver’s door and the rear passenger door with three rounds each before he rolled again to his right.

More bullets struck the pavement and Jake felt a stinging sensation in his left temple.

Returning fire, Jake aimed a little higher into the windows this time, most hitting the back window as the car tires screeched and the Mercedes sped away.

Traffic halted in all directions. Jake jumped to his feet, his gun still drawn, and he aimed it now toward the ground as he continued across the road.

The street cameras would have him on film. People would’ve probably captured him on their cell phones.

The gun at the side of his leg, Jake hurried toward the hotel. Just as he got to the edge of the buildings he heard a car’s tires squeal around the corner, so he turned his head quickly and saw it was Alexandra. She squeaked to a stop at the curb and Jake jumped into the front passenger seat.

“What the hell just happened?” she yelled as she jammed the gas down and pulled past the front of their hotel.

Jake changed magazines in his gun. “I don’t know. I crossed the street and this Mercedes rounded the corner. Two guys opened fire, the driver and a man in the back seat, who I think I hit.”

“I was coming out of the parking ramp and heard gunfire. Then I saw the flashes. But the cars stopped and jammed me up. I couldn’t get around them. Which way did they go?”

“I don’t know,” Jake admitted. “I was too busy looking for a second set of shooters.”

“Do we try to find them?”

Thinking quickly, Jake said, “No. Head out of town.”

“Where to?”

That was the problem. The two of them had discussed how they wanted to proceed, but they hadn’t really come to any consensus. Jake didn’t want her to get hurt, even though he understood that danger was more a part of her work than it had been for Anna. How had the shooters found him? He’d used a Visa for the hotel associated only with his Canadian persona, which wasn’t traceable to him in any way. Yet somehow these men had tracked him down. Less than a handful of people knew he had a Luxembourg bank account, and none of those knew which bank.

“Jake. Which direction?”

They approached the Autobahn that led to Germany to the east and Belgium to the northwest.

“Take a right.”

Alexandra jammed the wheel and hit the gas. As she entered the Autobahn her eyes traced back behind them. “We might have a tail.”

Jake turned and saw the silver Mercedes enter the Autobahn ramp and quickly make up time toward them. “Damn it. They must have pulled over and waited for us to pass. Crap. Take the exit ahead. Toward Metz.”

She did as he said. In less than fifteen kilometers they would be in France.

“They’re closing in,” Jake said.

She moved into the fast lane and flew past those in the two right lanes. The Mercedes was still half a kilometer back, paced with them. He needed to talk with these guys and gather some intel.

“Just after you cross into France,” Jake said, “pull off onto the first exit.”

A minute later and they crossed into France. The first exit was five kilometers ahead. She punched it and the BMW surged forward.

Jake saw the exit ahead.

“What’s the plan?” She pulled into the far right lane and slowed for the off-ramp.

“Stop at the top and let me out. You take a right, do a U-turn, and come back and pick me up.”

“No. Let me help.”

They approached the stop sign at the top of the ramp and Jake saw the Mercedes approaching. “No!”

The car stopped for a second and Jake jumped out, slamming the door behind him. She pulled away and he pulled both of his guns, directing them at the car as it closed in on him.

The driver of the Mercedes screeched to a halt twenty feet from Jake. A man came out of the front passenger door, using the door as cover, his gun through the open window.

Jake’s first shot struck the man in the calf and he tumbled to the ground before he got a shot off. As Jake vectored to his left, he saw another gun appear over the driver’s mirror, followed by three flashes and blasts. Jake ran forward firing as he went, his bullets smashing through the windshield toward the driver.

The man on the ground held his leg with his left hand and tried to lift his gun with his right, but Jake was now only a few feet away and easily shot the man’s right forearm, making him drop the gun.

Rounding the car, Jake prepared to shoot again at the driver. But as his vision of the inside of the car cleared, he saw the man slumped behind the wheel.

Jake checked the back seat. There was a man shot, laying on the seat. Okay, there had been three.

The man on the ground writhed in pain as Jake kicked away his gun. He tried to reach into his jacket but Jake slammed his heel into the man’s jaw, knocking him out. Damn it.

Suddenly, Alexandra rounded the corner and entered the ramp in the wrong direction, coming to an abrupt halt and jumping out, her gun aimed at the car.

“Jake, are you all right?” she yelled.

“Yeah, grab the IDs from those two in the car.”

As she did that, Jake holstered his guns and grasped the injured man by the collar and dragged him toward Alexandra’s BMW. He wasn’t bleeding too bad, Jake saw, since the first bullet had shattered the man’s shin, and the second shot had likely bounced off the man’s wrist bone.

“Got ‘em,” she said. “We taking him?”

“Yeah. For a while.”

She released her trunk remotely. “I don’t want blood on my leather seats.”

Jake removed their bags from the trunk and threw them into the back seat. Then he saw the duct tape. He ripped off a couple of feet and wrapped it around the man’s leg wound. Then he did the same for the guy’s wrist, before taping his hands behind his back. Satisfied, the two of them hoisted the man into the trunk and slammed him inside.

They got in and she pulled away, entering the Autobahn again toward Metz.

“Duct tape?” Jake asked.

“You never know when you might need some,” she said, smiling. “Where now?”

Jake had an idea where they needed to go next. “Head toward Nancy and we’ll decide from there.”

“All right.” She glanced at him and smiled. But that smile quickly turned to concern. “Jake, you have blood on your left temple.”

He felt the left side of his head and felt wet, sticky moisture. Looking into the sun visor mirror, he saw that the blood was a dark patch in his thick hair. The bleeding had already stopped. Thinking back, he remembered feeling pain during the shooting outside his hotel.

“It must have been a piece of the road chipped up with the shooting in Luxembourg,” Jake said, flipping the visor back to the windshield. He found some tissues in the glove box and held them against his temple.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “It could have been the actual bullet.”

“I’m all right,” he stressed. “Whatever it was just glanced off my thick skull. I think my long hair might have actually been good for something.”

She still had an expression of shock in her eyes.

“I’m all right,” he assured her. “I’ve had worse injuries playing football. And I’m not talking about German Soccer, where the players trip over a blade of grass and fall to the ground like they just had their leg blown off by a landmine.”

“I know about American football,” she said, her accent coming through on the last word. “I used to watch NFL Europe before they cancelled the teams.”

Jake checked the tissues, which had very little blood on them. He’d have a headache. Another close call. He had to get a handle on this. He was playing defense, back on his heels. Time to shift to the offense.

●

Back in Luxembourg, Toni Contardo pulled over to the curb a block from the Grand Hotel Cravat. She and Franz had gotten into town on Sunday night, and both had asked their respective organizations for help finding Jake and Alexandra. Yet, Toni knew that Jake wouldn’t be using his own name if he used a Visa. Although she knew a few of his personas, he could’ve easily made up a few more in the past couple of years. He could’ve also been staying in a smaller hotel or gasthaus with cash. Toni also knew Jake had a bank account in Luxembourg, but didn’t know which bank. Her and Franz had been traveling from bank to bank all morning flashing Jake’s picture, when they’d heard on the radio about a shooting on Roosevelt near the Grand Hotel Cravat. By the time they got to the hotel, though, the Police Grand-Ducale had most of the area cordoned off.

“What now?” Franz asked Toni.

“Let’s go for a little walk,” she said.

They got out and went down the block toward the hotel. The police were still allowing pedestrians to access the hotel, so the two of them crossed the street and went to the front entrance of the Cravat.

Toni stopped Franz and said, “Look across the street.”

Franz glanced around. “A bank. You think that’s why Jake was here?”

“Come on.” She led him into the hotel lobby and showed a younger woman at the front desk Jake’s picture, without saying Jake’s name.

“I can’t give any information,” the woman said.

Franz flashed his Polizei badge. “It will help with the investigation out there.”

“I heard the shots,” she said, reliving the event in her mind. “It was scary.”

“So he was staying here,” Toni pressed.

“He never checked out.” She clicked on her computer. “Are you sure he was involved with the shooting. He seemed like such a nice man.”

“A victim,” Franz assured her. “Maybe a witness.”

“Was he with anyone here?” Toni asked.

The desk clerk shook her head. “I don’t think so. He checked in himself. Here it is. Peter Magrath from Calgary, Canada.”

Toni thanked the woman and led Franz to the front door. That was a new identity for Jake, she thought. Since the road out front was closed off, they crossed Roosevelt to the bank.

“You don’t think he used the same name at the bank,” Franz said.

“No.” Nor did it really matter at this point. Jake had been here, but was gone now and she had no idea where he’d gone. She stopped out front of the bank. “Why don’t you let me handle this.”

Franz pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shoved one into his mouth. Smiling he said, “Go for it.”

She slowly walked into the bank, knowing it would take a lot of finesse to get any information out of a Luxembourg bank. She’d run into a brick wall with them all morning, not really expecting a straight answer. But she was mostly relying on her ability to judge the truthful statements of others than an actual answer. Toni went straight to a manager type, an older gentleman in a fine suit. If Jake had used this bank for a long time, this guy was likely to know him.

Toni handed the photo of Jake to the man. “Do you know him?”

“Does this have something to do with the shooting on the street?” the man asked.

“Yes.” She wasn’t lying. “Do you know him?”

“Was he involved?”

The man looked concerned. Bingo. He knew Jake. “Maybe. We’ll have to wait to review the street video.” She got what she needed from him. Maybe one more thing. “He was here this morning.”

“I can’t say,” he said.

“You just did. Listen, he’s a friend of mine. We worked together.” No need to tell him they had been more than friends for years.